‘Dying: A Memoir’ by Cory Taylor

Reading Cory Taylor’s Dying: A Memoir may not be the most cheerful thing to do on Boxing Day, but this heartfelt, often brutally honest account of what it is to come to terms with your own death is — paradoxically — a life-affirming read.

Taylor is a scriptwriter turned children’s author turned successful novelist. She’s probably best known for her two novels — Me and Mr Booker, which won the Commonwealth Book Prize for the Pacific Region in 2012, and My Beautiful Enemy, which was nominated for the Miles Franklin Award in 2013. (I have not read either book — but do check Lisa’s review of the latter.)

Skin cancer diagnosis

In 2005, shortly before her 50th birthday, she was diagnosed with stage-four melanoma thanks to a cancerous mole on the back of her knee. Three years later the disease turned up in the lymph nodes of her pelvis and a couple of years later it spread to other parts of her body. She had two operations, which helped halt the progress of the disease.

She kept her illness a secret, only telling her closest friends and her husband, Shin. She wrote two novels and found a measure of literary success.

Then, in December 2014, she had a seizure and was told the melanoma was now in her brain. She had the offending tumour removed successfully, but the disease was now terminal. She made her illness “public” and set about writing this memoir, something which took just a matter of weeks.

In fiction you can sometimes be looser and less tidy, but for much of the time you are choosing what to exclude from your fictional world in order to make it hold the line against chaos. And that is what I’m doing now, in this, my final book: I am making a shape for my death, so that I, and others, can see it clearly. And I am making dying bearable for myself.

US Edition, by Tin House Books

A memoir in three parts

Dying: A Memoir is divided into three key parts: the first wrestles with her idea of dying a dignified death even if that means taking things into her own hands (she orders a euthanasia drug from China, pens a suicide note to go with it and locks it away in a cabinet — just in case); the second looks at her parent’s troubled marriage and the tensions that exist between herself and her two older siblings; and the third recalls her childhood growing up in a range of diverse places including Fiji and Kenya.

At all times, Taylor’s voice is self-assured, calm, reasoned. There’s not a shred of self-pity in it:

Mine was the privileged tale of someone who had not truly suffered. The fact that I was dying now was sad, but not tragic. I had lived a full life.

She is always honest, sometimes unbearably so, about the strained relationship she has with her brother and her (late) father, whom she had to cut out of her life when his behaviour became too aggressive and manipulative. But she’s clear-eyed about the reasons for the tensions and knows that under different circumstances the outcomes might have been more positive, but she’s not one for worrying about things she can no longer change.

Yes, I have regrets, but as soon as you start re-writing your past you realise how your failures and mistakes are what define you. Take them away and you’re nothing.

Australian edition, by Text Publishing

Moments of joy

Through this all there’s a feeling of love in this book — for her (late) mother, with whom she has much empathy, and her husband Shin and their two sons. But there’s also a lot of love for places (Taylor’s father was a pilot, which meant moving houses a lot as a child) and for travel. She holds special affection for Japan, where she met her husband, and Fiji, where she spent some of her childhood.

And she’s enthusiastic about writing and the way she devoted her life to it, mainly to make sense of the world and her place in it. This rather extraordinary memoir is testament to her talent and love of the English language. It’s also testament to an extraordinary woman not afraid to confront her own mortality and to share what she discovers about it along the way.

I don’t blame you. It’s not a book to tackle if you’re not up for it… it is a rather morbid read but she writes so eloquently and I loved hearing about her childhood and the complicated relationship between her parents, so it’s not all about death but the forces that shaped her. I think I need to read her fiction now…

I thought this was well worth reading. I read it a while ago (about the time she died, I think) and I think the honesty and sheer bravery struck me the most (and of course, how well it was written). I’m very interested to know what your first non-Australian book for 2017 is going to be… What are you most looking forward to reading?

You know what, I haven’t really thought about it… how funny is that? I’ve been so anxious to get all my reviews written (I don’t want to play catch up in January) and my round-up posts done before going on a small holiday that I haven’t had time to think about what to read next. I will need to pack some books to take away with me, but I’ll probably just end up taking the Kindle and will have to see what lies in wait for me when I switch it on! Do you have any non-Australian recommendations?

The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead – a story of a woman escaping slavery in the early 1800s (very well written)

The Corpse Washer by Sinan Antoon – novel set in Iraq about an artist who is forced to return to the family trade of corpse washing during the 1990s war (not happy reading and not a 5 star read but it gives you a completely different perspective on what happened in Iraq to what we hear in the west)

To the Bright Edge of the World by Eowyn Ivey – story about a trek up
the Wolverine River in Canada in the 1800s and the interactions with the Native Americans

Hmmm, just realised that 2 out of 3 of these are historical fiction which is not your favourite genre. I am most looking forward to reading Sebastian Barry’s new book Days Without End.

Oh, I have a copy of the Whitehead courtesy of the publisher, so will read it at some point. Like the sound of the Antoon; I’m all for reading different perspectives; and the Ivey sounds interesting though I didn’t much like her debut. Not sure where you got the idea I don’t like historical fiction… it’s one of my favourite genres! And yes, I must admit I am looking forward to reading Mr Barry’s new one! 😄